My Hearth, My Home
by lonelyprinces
Summary: One-shot, Kurofai. Sometimes recovery is, quite literally, the stuff of nightmares.


The clearing stretches out before him, a sparse blanket of white, save for several blotches of severe red undergrowth. If Fai squints, he can almost imagine he's back in the tower, decaying mounds of flesh strewn about and below him, the ground stained with a crimson much like these bristling bushes.

He's not in Celes, surely. No matter how many winds tear at his hair, regardless of how his flesh pricks with cold. Celes is gone—lost to him, to everyone else. There's no way that—

"Yuui."

A child stands before him, all long, stringy hair and sunken skin, wrapped in a cloak that's weighing his small body down. The sex of the child would be indeterminate to an outsider, but of course Fai knows otherwise.

"Yuui, brother. You've come home."

The child's words reach his ears in shaky whispers, as though the very act of speaking has become painful. He peeks out from under a heavy hood, turning dull eyes on the willowy man before him.

"Yuui …?"

"I—" Fai manages a strangled gasp. "This—this isn't possible."

The child's eyes seem to burn into his even more vehemently than the bloody bracken around him. He takes a small step toward the taller man, reaching out thin limbs in an appeal. Fai takes an involuntary step back, clutching bemusedly at his throat.

"Not you. No. You died, so long ago …"

"I'm not angry," the boy insists, his voice a mere breath. "I'm only sad. Sad that my own brother would leave me to die, leave me so selfishly …"

Black spots flare at the periphery of Fai's vision; the world teeters. He's more aware than ever of the harsh winds, whipping ceaselessly at his swollen cheeks, blowing his hood behind him and sending his long hair in a tumble. Something feels wet and icy on his cheeks. He's crying. No, sobbing. Big, desperate, wracking sobs.

"Why, brother? Dear, sweet Yuui? The one person who promised never to leave?" The boy is crying, too, eyes big and hollow, tears leaking pathetically and finding home in the nape of his emaciated neck. "I loved you, brother, and you killed me."

Fai's on his knees on the frigid ground, feet and ankles soaked with unforgiving snow. Everywhere he looks, there is red—a red tide, slipping above him, below him, through him. On his hands, hot and sticky as the little boy's tears. At his throat, and he can't seem to make it go away, not for all his desperate pawing.

"I loved you," the little boy—the true Fai—says again, staring blankly down at the man on the ground. The man paralyzed with fear and horror and frenzied desire, desire that he can right what has gone so disastrously wrong.

"I loved you, and you left me. You selfish, evil, wicked man."

The pale clearing douses itself with red, again and again, an endless loop. Fai smells iron all about him, tastes it on his tongue. It is the last thing he can recall before his vision fails him completely.

Sight vanishes, then air. But not sound, for his brother's words echo about him, a hollow, pained song, morose and empty.

* * *

"Gods above, mage—"

The wizard, by all appearances, has tangled himself up completely in a mess of heavy blankets. His hands clench and unclench some foreign fabric—Kurogane's kimono, perhaps.

 _Kurogane?_

Fai goes slack, unclenching his fists, forcing his fevered breathing back down to some sort of equilibrium with a painfully steady effort. He forces his gaze to latch on to something concrete. The moon—a large, constant eye just outside their window. The scattering of stars, dancing in place above their heads. Kurogane himself, looking grouchy, cantankerous, and perhaps just a little concerned.

"I'm sorry," Fai murmurs, voice cracking. "I'm not letting you get any sleep, am I?"

"Don't think about me," Kurogane grumbles. "This is, what, the fifth time this month? Any plans to talk to me about what's going on like a normal person?"

Fai sighs, staring blankly up at the wood-panelled ceiling, his body limp on their sleeping mat. His jaw is slack; the smiles that were all at once so forthcoming, so defensive, won't come now. His hair is thick in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Kuro-sama," Fai repeats. "I'm no good at talking about feelings."

"Tch. Don't I know it."

"It was … another dream about my brother. If you were wondering."

"Hm." The intonation is not unkind.

"I know his death wasn't my fault—I've known that for ages, now. But I can't seem to shake off the idea in dreams. Isn't that ridiculous, Kuro-pon?" Fai manages at laugh, but it falters in the quiet air, hollow and discordant.

Kurogane does not respond—not immediately, anyway. Instead, he leans forward, running a large hand through Fai's tangled waves.

"Oh," Fai murmurs nonsensically, bemused and more than a little pleased.

"Don't lie to me, wizard. Or act like you're all right when it's clear you're not. I think we've both had enough of that." The strokes continue, clumsy and comforting. "You're reacting just as anyone would expect you to. That bastard Fei Wang put you—put all of us—through hell. More than that. I know I didn't sleep right for months after my mother died, and I'm supposed to be the strongest warrior in Nihon."

"And you really are," Fai murmurs. "My big, strong Kuro-pippi. I feel like a mess next to you, and not just physically."

"Shut up." The words are measured, firm. Kurogane's staring down at him, a dark shadow save for his gleaming red eyes, massaging Fai's scalp in a no-nonsense manner. "I'd be asking myself a hell of a lot more questions if you were completely okay by this point. Hell, maybe you'll never be completely okay. I understand that. I do, the kids do, even the manjuu bun does. So, for the love of the gods, give yourself a chance to recover."

Fai leans into Kurogane's touch, limp and drowsy with sleep. He smiles up at the warrior, with what appears to be real, albeit quiet, pleasure.

"I love you, Kuro-sama."

"Hmph. I suppose you do."

"Thank you for understanding."

Kurogane nods. "Of course. Fai."

A pause.

"And you know I love you, too."

Kurogane leans in, his movements thoughtful and controlled for a man of his size. He kisses Fai full on the mouth, his lips warm and soft they mesh with Fai's own, and in turn, his fair skin. Fai feels about ready to cry—deep, full sobs of complete and utter relief. His Kuro-pon is here. He's here, he's _here_ , and he's not leaving, no matter how many times his mind might try and tell him so. A flush spreads up the wizard's neck, touching his cheeks like bursting pink petals.

Kurogane plants himself just above Fai, firm and constant, from his sturdy torso to his powerful arms. His black hair spikes up in all directions, disheveled with sleep. Fai almost laughs at the thought. To think!—this strong, capable, _constant_ man is with him now, a man who can make him smile and laugh with such little provocation.

"Lovely, lovely Kuro-sama," Fai breathes, as Kurogane leans in, allowing the wizard to cradle his bronzed cheeks. Long, pale legs wrap about the small of his back, and he welcomes this, too.

The moon shines in through the window, pale and moody; the sky is dusky and sad and blue. None of these things register to either of them. For Kurogane, Fai's eager touch, his pliant limbs, seem to sink more deeply into his own with each passing moment, lissome and soft. Fai welcomes the steady weight above him, so like a protective shield, as he smiles openly into Kurogane's kisses.

"Kuro-tan …" Fai's hair fans about his pillow like a halo as Kurogane's mouth finds the nape of his neck, his throat. For just one moment, Fai catches sight of the warrior's expression. His eyes shine like warm embers, subdued and soft. A smile turns up the corners of his determinedly grouchy mouth. He looks intoxicated, adoring. _Happy_.

"You take care of yourself too, okay, Kuro-sama?" Fai says quietly.

"Of course," Kurogane responds, cozying up beside Fai and wrapping him in his arms, cheek pressed to warm cheek. "I want to have as much time as possible with my idiot mage, after all. Obviously."

Fai's heart dances in bouncing, erratic rhythms against his chest. The red tide of earlier ebbs away, replaced by Kurogane's fond gaze, as warm and sanguine as a hearth, a home.


End file.
